


The Three of Us

by Deejaymil



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Casual Sex, Established Relationship, Gratuitous Smut, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 09:05:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8156665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deejaymil/pseuds/Deejaymil
Summary: Everyone has fantasies, even Aaron Hotchner. Even if he won't admit it. As it turns out, Emily's may be more than he can handle.But he's absolutely willing to try.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It begins, as many things do, with a bottle of alcohol. It, technically, ends with one too.

They’re a drunk, hazy muddle in the centre of his bed, naked and curled around each other like two halves of the same whole. Emily is sharp and cheeky, all he wants is sleep: somehow, this became a conversation about the things they’ve never thought to tell each other.

“Everyone has fantasies, Aaron,” she says, critically examining the reddening mark she’s left on his chest, right under where his shirt pocket sits. “ _Everyone._ And I know one of yours.”

“I don’t,” he says, quite honestly he thinks at the time, because he really, really doesn’t. “Do you?” He regrets asking that a little, because she laughs and laughs and laughs and he almost laughs too, despite not getting the joke.

“Sure, plenty,” she admits, stretching like a cat, and maybe _that’s_ his kink because every part of him perks up with interest at the sight.

He rolls next to her, nips at her throat, and whispers, “Tell me one,” and she goes quiet. Thoughtful. “One of your biggest. Please?”

They trust each other. They haven’t been doing this for as long as they have without learning to trust each other, and that trust hasn’t been shaken as of yet. He, later, assumes that’s why she trusts him with the answer.

“You,” she begins, taking a deep breath, and he frowns in confusion before she continues, “watching me… with someone else.”

Oh.

 _Ohhh_.

His first instinct is _nope._ His second is a rush of jealous anger. His third… is curiosity. Curiosity, and more than a little arousal.

Her eyes flicker down, and then back to his face, widening. “Guess we just found one of yours,” she teases, and he claims her mouth with his, hungrily. “Aaron? What are you thinking?”

He’s thinking that he can’t stand the idea of someone else touching her. He’s thinking that he _really_ wants to see her respond to someone else touching her. He’s thinking that he probably can’t be objective enough to let someone else touch her.

“Do you have someone in mind?” he asks, shivering slightly because he’s really not sure of anything he’s thinking right now. With a shaky chuckle, she pulls away and tenses. As though for a blow; physical or otherwise. Unconsciously, he profiles her.

She’s not shy. So it’s not shame keeping her mouth shut.

She’s not cautious. So it’s not uncertainty.

She _is_ protective.

So it’s someone they know. Someone they both know.

She fights with Morgan. Rossi is a father figure to her. JJ… he has an open mind, but he’s sure she prefers men, at least most of the time. Which leaves…

“Reid,” he says, half not believing it himself, and she arches her neck back and peers at him along the bridge of her nose. “It’s Reid.”

And she doesn’t say anything, so he knows he’s right.

Weirdly… _weirdly_ … that’s better than the alternative. A stranger. Reid, with his shy smiles and his agile hands… it’s understandable. Weird. But understandable.

“Okay,” he says simply, because he won’t shame her and some part of him is a little intrigued and another part is trying not to think about Reid and Emily because it’s torn between revulsion and revelation. “Hey, wait, what kink of mine do you know? I don’t, wait, what?!”

Emily smiles tightly, still waiting for the blow she’s sure is coming. Leans forward and breathes a hot breath of air that goes straight from his ear to his cock. Whispers, “ _J'ai envie de toi,”_ and he knows that and responds with enthusiasm. _I want you._

Halfway through, she’s shifting and panting and he comes to a decision. Hasty, perhaps, but he doesn’t think he’ll regret it. He’s a profiler after all, they all are, and Reid’s eyes follow her when he doesn’t think anyone is paying attention.

“You’ll have to approach him,” he murmurs, and she freezes on the edge. “There’s too much of a power imbalance if I’m present.”

“Oh my god,” she breathes, and comes.

 

* * *

 

Their first attempt is an unmitigated disaster. Reid is stunned at the wild turn of events his life has suddenly thrown his way. He’s awkward and shy, Hotch is overbearing, and Emily is furious with the both of them.

“Be less you,” Emily hisses to him, and Reid is on the bed with his shirt off, his hands between his knees, trying not to look like he’s shivering. “You’re freaking him out. Stop glaring!”

“I’m not glaring,” Hotch says, truthfully at that moment because he wants this to work. Then Emily slides back onto the bed with a stern glance tossed over her shoulder at him, Reid tentatively curls his hand around her hip, and Hotch winces.

This isn’t going to work.

The second time is better, despite it taking them almost another seven months to reach that point. “Rules,” Reid suggests over a glass of wine. “Set boundaries. If we know what we’re all comfortable with, we won’t be so cautious with each other.” Maybe it’s the wine giving him the courage to suggest something, because he sure as hell hasn’t been helpful up until now, but it _is_ good advice.

“I’m not comfortable with you and him…” Hotch trails off, wincing at the language he’d almost used, despite having been sleeping with Emily for three years now and having almost slipped into a weird sort of casual-not-intimacy with Reid.

“Okay,” Emily says bluntly, draining her glass. “He doesn’t fuck me. That’s fine. I don’t want you looming. It’s unsettling. Get involved or at _least_ sit a little closer than the threshold, please?”

“I’m not…” He trails off again. He’s not _what_? Gay? Interested in men? Interested in Reid? “I don’t want…”

“Aaron, if this is uncomfortable for you, we can call it off,” Reid says softly, and Hotch baulks at the idea of failing this. “There’s no shame in walking away.”

It occurs to Hotch suddenly that Reid might be exceedingly uncomfortable with the loss of control that comes with arousal around Hotch, but he doesn’t appear to be uncomfortable with the idea of the actual act. It’s a startling revelation, and he eyes the man differently with that knowledge in mind.

They try again that night. It goes fine. Hotch manages not to loom, laying on the bed with Emily resting against him as Reid uses his fingers to bring her to the edge and Hotch takes over. He’s buried in her, stunned at how fucking _ready_ she is, how much this turns her on, when he looks up and makes unerring eye-contact with Reid. The man is sprawled on the bed, his hip inches from Emily’s and his head tilted away, one leg up to hide the hand that’s moving steadily between his hips. As Hotch is watching, Reid chokes a breath back, shudders once, and comes silently and remotely less than an arm’s length away from them.

It’s a molten, leaded weight that drops from Hotch’s belly to his crotch at the momentary look of _desire_ that flickers across Reid’s sharp features, and it goes straight to his cock. Emily feels it, feels him getting—somehow—harder inside her, and puts two and two together instantly with a haughty arch of one eyebrow. Maybe there’s something there, but Hotch isn’t quite willing to face that something just yet, and their third time is a long time coming.

 

* * *

 

It’s Emily’s idea to have Thanksgiving at his house for the team, and it’s also Emily’s idea to get everyone smashed. She does a splendid job of doing just that.

Hotch almost regrets allowing her to push him to this level of giddy, because he’s almost drunk and she’s wearing a dress that’s slim in all the right places and he doesn’t currently have the focus to look away. When he turns his head away from the dinner table to see if she or Morgan need a hand with arguing over the potato bake, he notes again how the dress clings to her belly and her breasts, outlining both starkly in black lines of silk his hands itch to touch. When he’s hugging Jack goodbye as he leaves with Jessica to spend the night at his Grandpa’s, he can smell her perfume behind him from where she’s watching. When he’s arguing with Dave cheerfully about politics, he can see her leaning past JJ in his peripheral, her hair falling forward and revealing the bare white skin of her back, and he wants to taste, to skim his lips over that skin, to peel the dress away from her body and let it pool around her feet.

In short, he’s very, very eager—as much as he loves his team and the night, overall, is a rousing success—for them all to go home so he can be thankful to her in entirely another way. By the end of the night, he’s drunk, half-hard, and more than a little silly, and he almost shoves Dave out of the door in his rush to get back to her. Dave grins like he knows and doesn’t argue.

The hum of voices floats back out to him. Reid is gathering his coat, his face flushed and movements sluggish, and Emily is watching him carefully. Hotch leans on the doorframe and watches them, wonders what Emily is thinking about, wonders if she wants like he does.

Wonders if she wants something entirely different.

The cab is late. They peer out the front window, across the rain-swept lawn where fallen leaves make dark puzzle-patterns on the lawn, and no headlights sweep up the street to collect him. He’s apologising, flustered, mutters something about walking despite the hour and the state of him, and Emily stands to look as well.

Hotch watches them. He’s taken his seat, found another glass of whiskey that the previous glasses have smoothed the way for. He’s feeling warm and content and a little bit in love with everything. Emily is still in her dress, but her hair’s now undone and tumbling around her shoulders, and Reid is oddly boyish with the glow the fire and the alcohol leave on his face.

“Just stay the night,” Hotch suggests, and Reid looks stressed.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” he mumbles, looking away, and Hotch remembers how timid he can be, how terrified of rejection. Emily remembers it too, because she grips his hands in hers and guides him to a chair, pushing him down with a sniggered, _shut up, skinny, and have another drink._

The night turns quiet. When the others were there, it was loud with laughter. With just them and Reid, it’s peaceful. Emily dims the lights before sprawling on the rug in front of the fire with Sergio leaving fur all over her gorgeous dress, one strap slipping down her shoulder. Reid tucks a leg up to his chest, his glass leaning against his knee, and watches the flames and Emily and everything with an almost hunger to his eyes.

Emily’s eyes keep flickering to Reid, and Hotch knows what she’s thinking. Isn’t sure how he feels about what she’s thinking. Swallowing, there’s a spark in his belly that suggests he knows exactly how he feels about what she’s thinking, and he’s not sure how to respond to that.

When she looks to him with that question on her face, he nods slowly and the spark becomes a flame that pools between his legs and he feels himself hardening before she even moves. Before she stands, the dress clinging to her legs, and walks over to Reid on silent feet, taking the glass from his hand and tugging his knee down so his foot thumps softly against the carpet. His eyes are huge in the dim light. They’re locked on her. He doesn’t move as she cups his jaw with both her hands, covering his mouth with hers and sliding onto his lap, straddling him with the dress hiked up around her upper thighs. So close to revealing all.

There’s no sound except for them kissing for several thumping heartbeats of time and Hotch is slack-jawed, his blood rushing to help the alcohol whirl in his head. No sound until Emily breaks apart from Reid with a gasp, her eyelids shadowed and heavy, his hands sliding up her body to brace against her back. He’s breathing deeply, still saying nothing, and Hotch is hard and desperate for _something_ more.

“Kiss him again,” he says out of nowhere, his mouth running away with his wants without consulting his brain, and she does. Avidly, needily, and it only takes a minute of this kind of touch before Reid breaks and sighs into her clever mouth, his hands dropping to her hips and guiding her lower, a suggestion. Hotch wonders if he’s hard too, pressing tight against the material of his sensible trousers, wonders what that looks like. The dress is pulled against her thighs, not letting either of them find the friction they’re unconsciously seeking, and Hotch stands and finds himself walking towards them, needing to see, needing to _know._

Emily’s gaze darts to him as he crouches by the armchair, his fingers resting on the side, and her expression is smug underneath the desire. She’s not giving Reid time to be anxious, to over-think this, but as Hotch meets that gaze, he can see Reid’s movements turning jittery, nervous.

But, as Hotch has discovered, there are more ways than one to stop his brain from ticking.

He sidles behind the armchair, Reid’s head turning to follow him, and reaches down to grab the man’s wrists, drawing them back behind his head. Reid makes a noise, a questioning, startled noise, and arches his spine to try and turn to look, his crotch bumping up into Emily’s. She jolts with a hiss, eyes slipping closed for a second, and whispers, “Oh, feel the state of _you_.”

It’s a purr, a smug cat-whisper, and she slides a hand down to trail her fingers over the tented front of his trousers, ignoring his gasp and the way he tugs ineffectually at his wrists to try to reach for her. Hotch leans over the back of the couch, still holding his hands immobile, and brushes his mouth against the shell of his ear and rumbles, “No touching,” into his skin. He’s acting on impulse, nipping at the lobe, feeling the shudder that works its way right through the other man at the action. “Emily, he’s thinking too much. Distract him.”

He doesn’t need to guide her more than that. She’s been one-step ahead of every man that’s tangled with her for longer than he’s known her, and Reid is no exception. Neither is he. With a smile that’s sly and promising, she adjusts her position on Reid’s lap, ignoring his heaving chest and locking her dark eyes onto Hotch’s as she slowly, so slowly, and deliberately drags that slinky black dress up her thighs and lowers herself.

“Oh,” Hotch breathes, and Reid is mute and shaking. “You naughty thing.” Because she’s bare except for the dress, visible to both of them, and even as they watch in shared appreciation, she’s flush against Reid’s body and moving her hips in a wicked rhythm that has Hotch’s own cock throbbing in sympathy. Hands on Reid’s chest, bunched in his crumpled shirt, fingers twined around his tie, and her mouth finds his once in a quick brush of lips, again—just as quickly—and a third time; this time panting and wet and desperate as Reid responds, teeth nipping and material rustling as they move together.

There’s a lull as Emily pauses, head lowered and shoulders shivering, and Hotch knows that almost-unfocused look on her face. Lips swollen and tongue pressed against her teeth to bite back whatever she’s a slip away from saying; he chuckles deeply and presses against the back of the armchair in a sudden wish to be closer, his pants uncomfortably tight, body humming and hot and sweating, and Reid’s arms are tensed so tightly the muscles are cording.

“Look at her,” he hums into Reid’s ear, finding it again. Reid makes a noise, an unknowable noise, and lets his head loll slightly to the side, unconsciously, his throat bared as a temptation that Hotch has never had before but now can’t look away from. “This is turning her on so much. Doing this to you.” At the _this_ , he brings his mouth to that bared skin, tasting the sharp-salt tang of sweat on Reid’s skin, flicking his tongue gently over it. “Imagine what you could do to her if I let you.”

“Aaron,” Emily says, breathily, and he looks up to find her pupils so huge he could drown in them. When she moves to ease cramped knees, he catches a glimpse of the light tan material of Reid’s trousers, dark with damp and by the white-edged desire to Reid’s eyes, he can feel that she’s dripped onto him. She’s impossibly aroused by this, watching them together, and he’s wild with the power of it. Keeps his eyes locked on hers and finds the junction of Reid’s shoulder and throat, biting down with a steady pressure that coaxes a slow moan from him and a shudder from her. Her next words are mouthed, barely even spoken, but he knows them. _“Kiss him, please.”_

He does. Reid is soft and pliable under his lips, his breath sour with the whiskey he’d drunk and his lips are flavoured with her. Eyes glazed, cheeks red, he makes a noise that could be a groan or could be Hotch’s name; it doesn’t matter because Hotch takes that noise and swallows it, tasting it on his own lips. He has to let go of Reid’s wrists to undo his own pants, so painfully hard he almost can’t think to find the zip. Reid immediately takes the lapse in concentration to readjust his own pants before gripping her hip with one hand, her chin with another, and dragging her down against him.

Hotch is distracted by the sudden shock-jolt of arousal that thunders through him at the swift move. Reid does something quick with his mouth that has Emily melting against him, rolling his hips once, twice; his cock outlined thickly by his strained briefs and pushing up almost roughly, letting her rub against him like a needy cat. It only takes a second of this, not even long enough for Hotch to dazedly realize he’s palming himself through his own briefs, before Emily cries out, pushes down _hard_ , quivering, and comes against him.

Reid tremors with his eyes half-lidded, and Hotch growls deep in his chest and says, “Don’t you come just yet,”; feeling a surge of delicious power when Reid tenses on the cusp, panting raggedly. “Get up. Both of you.” Using his work voice, his _Hotch_ voice, they both react without thinking to it.

Emily blinks at him, doe-eyed and malleable always when she’s coming down from a climax. She gets up, pulling Reid up with her, and he really is impressively aroused and wobbly on his feet. The dress falls back into place as though she hadn’t just gotten herself off by grinding against her best friend’s cock, but Reid’s pants are a mess and he’s all hands. Knees complaining as he rises, Hotch stands and dodges the armchair, walking up to them to tease the thin straps of that black dress from her shoulders, letting it slip slowly and reluctantly down her body; baring her shoulders, her breasts, her belly and hips and legs before hitting the ground in a soft _shshhh_ of fabric. Running his thumb over her over-sensitive skin, tracing her nipple, she shivers like a thoroughbred about to race, twitching, and he’s still using the Hotch voice. “Undress him.”

The power is seductive. She does exactly as he says, Reid helping where he can without taking his eyes off Hotch, clothes tossed over the armchair and on the floor in her eagerness. Stepping back, Hotch unbuttons his own shirt, folding it neatly onto the couch, adding his trousers and briefs, running his thumb appreciatively over his cock when it springs free. He considers their next move, what he wants from this, how much they’ll give him and how much he’ll take.

The alcohol makes him confident. A little silly. A lot reckless. He wonders about Reid’s self-control. Steps up next to them, drawing Emily against him and moving backwards towards the fire, coaxing. “We’re going to make you come again, love,” he says into her hair, kissing it and then her when she widens her eyes and looks up at him. Each kiss is a word, breaking up his promise to her. “I’m going to tell him how to be so good to you, so fucking good, I promise.”

The stiff material of the other armchair is warm against his back when he seats himself on the floor against it, close enough to the fire to cast an orange glow to his left side, the rug soft under him. Emily tilts her head, enquiring, and he pulls her down to his lap like she weighs nothing. Reid watches with darkened eyes, his body made of narrow planes and surprising lines of muscle in the flickering firelight, his hand around his cock and stroking leisurely and _oh fuck, fuck,_ Hotch feels his own twitch with perverse interest at the sight of _that_.

It’s a moment of weakness. He guides her down with his hands wide on her hips; sliding himself into the slick, hot, heat between her legs, feeling the head of his cock bump against the welcoming opening, her muscles tensing and tightening hungrily in anticipation of him pushing inside her. For a moment, he’s tempted. Their eyes lock and she’s begging silently for him to do it, to fill her and fuck her right here on the rug while Reid watches, and he groans deep in his throat with the enticement. His hips twitch upwards. Fingers tight on her skin, telling the story of this moment in the shape of the bruises they’ll leave. He slips in. Just a little. Just enough.

“Oh god,” Reid says, his voice husky and throaty and so fucking deep Hotch could drown in it. “ _Aaron,_ fuck, oh fuck…” He wants Hotch to fuck her; Hotch wants to fuck her; she wants it; and it’s almost impossible to slide back out slowly, feeling cold and exposed when he slips free. Emily mewls, fucking _mewls_ , with the loss, moving her fingers down to replace his cock.

“Not yet,” Hotch scolds, catching her fingers in his and pulling them up to his mouth to taste her, brushing his lips against them. “Back against my chest. Come on, sweetheart. Do as I say.” She does. Heartbeat thumping so hard against his chest he could hum along with it, pressing against him in a perfect sensation of skin and sweat and heat, nestling her ass in his lap. They wriggle to adjust her weight, there’s a sticky trace of her on his thigh, and his cock is warmly nestled between her legs and pulsing in time with the beat of her heart.

Once she’s settled, he gestures to Reid. Reid slinks forward, unsure once more, coming to his knees him front of them. Watching silently as Hotch uses his hands to gently coax Emily’s legs apart, opening her to his eyes, tracing his fingers over the taut skin between her hip and thigh when she makes a breathy noise. Where her legs are draped over Hotch’s, their skin sticks, slick with sweat. Reid is silent.

Hotch rests his chin on her shoulder, her hair tucked to the other side, and examines Reid critically. “What would you do now?” he asks him curiously, as though they’re at work poring over a case, and Reid opens his mouth to answer and chokes on it. Blushes. Averts his gaze. Even now, naked and aroused, he can’t bring himself to be filthy. “Tell me. Now.”

The answer is a whisper. “Taste her,” Reid says in a low, velvet voice, and Emily groans.

Hotch nods appreciatively. There’s a weird kind of atmosphere in the room, the power still skewed towards him, but this time voluntarily and he gets the feeling this is getting Reid off just as much as Emily being naked and wanting is. Reid’s a pathological people pleaser. Even in this, he’s seeking Hotch’s approval. Craving it. “Do you know how to use your mouth?” he asks, the words over-loud in the waiting hush of the room. “Have you done this before?”

“Yes.” Reid’s playing along. It’s… captivating. Hotch will never admit how much.

Emily laughs. “Good boy,” she teases, reaching out to tease a lock of his hair with her finger. Reid grins at her, a familiar, silly grin. “You little tease. I bet you’re excellent at it too, Mr. Eidetic Memory.”

Reid’s not arrogant or cocky, so he just turns his expression inward, and ducks his head down in a swift move that brings his mouth against her. She’s still half-teasing, still joking around, and not at all ready for the wicked press of his tongue. She gasps, hips canting forward and almost choking him, but he’s ready and catches her with one wide, clever hand against her belly. “Spence, Spence, _Spencerfuck_ ,” she stammers, eyes closing, and Hotch’s view is obscured but he feels the moment Reid finds her clit and flicks his tongue against it because she moans and jerks her head back to find Hotch’s mouth. The kiss is hungry, frantic, sloppy, and she’s rocking against them both.

“Stop,” Hotch orders, and Reid does, breathing heavily with his mouth shiny-wet. Hotch blinks, thrown, eyes locked on his lips and wondering how they taste, if he can kiss him again, and he needs to end this soon because any kind of release is beginning to sound good, and Reid’s lips around his cock is an image he can’t stop imagining once he starts. And now he’s lost in the thought of it, the tension of needing to come, somehow, anyhow, and he’s impatient; “Use your fingers. See if she’s—” He has to stop because his body surges with the thought of that and he’s too close, too close…

“Whatever word you lost there, Aaron,” Emily pants, “I’m all that and more. You don’t need to check, idi— _ohhh_.” Hotch opens his eyes and Reid has shuffled forward on his knees, his hand between her legs and eyes on her face, intent and terrifyingly focused, like this is a test he refuses to fail. Hotch leans forward to look. One finger. One cocked finger that he slides in slowly up to the knuckle, and Emily grows with frustration and goes to snap something, but he adds another, quicker and she swallows.

“Don’t be gentle,” Hotch suggests.

“Listen to the man,” Emily adds with an unladylike snort. Reid raises an eyebrow, and adds two more without pausing for an _if you please._ “Oh fuck, fuck you, Spencer fucking Reid, ah. Aaron, Aaron, just… something…”

“Don’t let her come,” Hotch says, and Reid swallows, his throat shifting with the movement. There’s a single drop of sweat on his collarbone. The muscles in his arm bunch as he moves his fingers within her slowly, deeply, and by the slackness to his jaw, he’s not going to last much longer either. That’s okay. Hotch has decided how this ends. “Tell me, Spencer. Is she ready?”

Reid breathes in once. Deeply. And once more. Blushing bright red. “Yes,” he says, almost a sigh. “She’s…” He trails off and they wait, not letting him off the hook. “She’s… wet. So wet.”

“Ready for you,” Hotch murmurs, and they both stiffen in shock. This isn’t what they do. Reid can do as he pleases, but it’s Hotch who fucks her, and they all agreed to that. But that’s not what he wants tonight. Or it is, but there’s something else he wants more. Wants to see Reid come. Wants to know he’s guided him through it. Wants to know that Emily has everything she’s ever desired and more. “If she wants you… I want you to fuck her, Spencer. I want your cock in her when she comes. Making her come.”

“Oh my god, yes.” Emily is wriggling, panting, and if she keeps that up, Hotch is going to finish before they’ve even began. “Yes. Yes. Please. Aaron, please, I can’t, just… now, Spencer, now, _please_.”

Reid’s eyes are huge. He’s shaking. “Condom?” he whispers, looking around, and Emily groans with frustration at the wait. Hotch isn’t much better off.

“It’s okay,” Hotch murmurs, because she’s on the pill, they’ve discussed this before, they’re all clean, and he wants, perversely, the intimacy this brings. Emily nods in agreement. His next word is a command because Reid is frozen on the cusp of panicking. “Now. Fuck her, Spencer.”

It’s a fumbling few seconds as Reid moves closer, his cock rigid and wet at the tip from the smear of pre-come he’s stroked over it. Reid’s staring into Hotch’s eyes as Emily tips her hips up, Hotch’s cock slipping along her ass as she moves; staring into his eyes as she takes his cock and traces her fingers over it; still looking when he rocks forward and slides into her roughly enough that their hips grind together. As soon as she’s around him, his eyes shutter closed, mouth falling open. Freezes inside her for a haunting moment as he adjusts and Emily cries out, “Shit, _fuck_. Ah, Aaron. He’s perfect. He’s so perfect and hard and _oh_ , _move you bastard._ ”

And he does. Roughly, because she likes that, pulling out in a long smooth stroke and pushing back in again. Braces his hand against the armchair behind Hotch, his hair tumbling into his eyes and a slick, pooling wetness coating Hotch’s cock as it trickles down from their ragged movements. They’re thrusting, eager, Emily clenching around him. Hotch settles his hands on her hips and holds her steady as Reid fucks her perfectly, giving her what she wants, and he wants too. With every roll of their hips, Hotch is rubbing against them, slippery and hard and needy and he can feel it fizzling in the base of his spine, the climax he’s been staving off, and he’s going to come like this; between the legs of the woman he loves while she fucks another man, and the idea of that is _mesmerizing._

Distantly, he realizes they’re not quiet anymore, not any of them. Reid’s breathing is a mess, there’s the slick sound of skin striking, Emily is making breathy, unfocused moans as Reid works her apart from within, and Hotch himself is rambling. None of it makes sense, it’s just words and need and want, but he can’t stop. Telling them how good they’re being, how amazing, how much he loves them—because he _does_ love them both, in different ways, and he needs them to know while they look like this, so open and trusting and lost in each other. He’s rambling and Reid leans forward, his lips still glassy with Emily coating them, and Hotch doesn’t even think twice before kissing him.

It’s different. It’s slow and Reid inhales, breathing him in. His hips push home, as deep in Emily as he can go, and he does nothing but focus on Hotch for a moment, learning how to kiss him. “Oh,” Hotch breathes into that kiss, opening his lips to invite him in.

“Holy shit, that’s hot,” Emily says, her voice throaty, and then, “Oh, fuck, _Aaron…”_

He doesn’t need her to tell him. He can feel her coming again, feel the build and the release as she tightens around Reid and braces against him. Knows Reid can feel her because he moans, his head tipping forward as he momentarily loses control of his reactions; because he’s stiffened and arched as well and Hotch is darkly compelled to ask, “Emily, is he…?”

“Yes,” pants Emily. “I can feel him, Aaron. Feel him coming…” They curl around each other as they slowly return to themselves, eyes closed and arms tangled, and Hotch slides out from them in a desperate move, ignoring their shared yelps of shock. Curls a hand around himself and strokes frantically, needfully, _oh god I need I need to come, please, anything, please,_ imagining the tight squeeze of Emily around Reid, his cock, his mouth, her heart…

Emily’s there. She grabs his wrist and pulls it away and he makes a noise, but then he’s making an entirely different noise because she’s climbed on top of him and sunk easily down. Easily because she’s a mess, hot and well-fucked, wet with both her and Reid, but he doesn’t care, he can’t care, because he’s inside her, so deep inside her, and she’s perfect.

“Your turn, Aaron,” Reid says from somewhere nearby, and he’s using Hotch’s voice. His command voice. “Come for us. Now.”

As it turns out, Hotch responds to that voice the same way they do. He comes.

And it’s absolutely also the beginning of something more.

**Author's Note:**

> **Edited August, 2017.**


End file.
